touch my skin (to keep me whole)

Upon arrival at the apartment building, he pulled out his wallet and handed over a couple of crisp bills to the driver, ignoring Minjeong’s protests.

The cool night air hit her the second she stepped onto the sidewalk, sharp enough to send a shiver crawling down her spine. Somewhere further down the street, music spilled faintly from an open storefront, mixing with the distant blare of traffic and the low rumble of the subway beneath the pavement.

Queens.

Minjeong could barely remember the last time she’d ventured this far out of Manhattan.

The taxi pulled away before she could second-guess herself, taillights disappearing into the night as tension curls tight in Minjeong’s chest. The gesture makes her tense, fingers tightening around her handbag as though bracing herself.

She feels a hand rest on the small of her back, guiding her into the apartment building. The touch is comforting in a way that only unsettles her further.

On wobbly legs, Minjeong lets herself be guided into the elevator. The graffiti-covered walls and lingering smell of weed do nothing to settle her nerves.

The elevator hummed softly as it climbed, fluorescent lights flickering overhead. Minjeong kept her eyes fixed firmly ahead until movement in the mirror caught her attention.

Her own reflection stared back at her.

Gone was the cool, composed woman from the bar - the one with sharp remarks and amused smiles and enough confidence to go home with a stranger without hesitation. Now she looked tired. Almost vulnerable.

Beside her, he leaned casually against the elevator wall - entirely relaxed, like he couldn’t feel the tension radiating off her in waves.

But then his eyes lifted toward the mirror too, and immediately softened. He made a move to close the distance between them.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

The concern in his voice caught her off guard enough that she didn’t answer right away.

‘‘Don’t worry. My place is a lot nicer than this, I promise,’’ he murmurs, draping an arm over her shoulders.

The warmth of him seeps through the thin fabric of her coat almost immediately, grounding in a way she hadn’t expected.

“The building just has…” he pauses briefly, glancing around the elevator with mild disdain, “…character.”

The elevator jolts gently before slowing to a stop.

For a brief second, neither of them moves. Then the doors slide open with a soft ding.

He glances down at her, arm still warm around her shoulders.

“You can still run away, you know,” he says lightly.

Minjeong looks up at him then. Really looks at him. At the teasing smile tugging at his mouth. The softness hidden underneath it. The way he’s watching her carefully now, like he’s trying to make sure she’s comfortable without making it obvious.

Minjeong exhales slowly through her nose before stepping out of the elevator first.

“Well,” she says dryly, adjusting the strap of her handbag on her shoulder, “don’t just stand there staring. You invited me up, remember?”

He guides them both through the corridor, thankfully free of the smells that plague the elevator.

He opens the door to his apartment, painted a deep navy blue dulled slightly by age around the edges. Slowly, Minjeong follows him inside, unsure of what to expect.

And immediately, she’s caught off guard.

The apartment is warm. Not just in temperature, but in feeling.

Soft golden lighting spills across dark hardwood floors. The scent of cedar and laundry detergent lingers in the air, clean and lived-in in a way that feels unexpectedly comforting. It doesn’t feel like the apartment of a reckless twenty-something man.

Instead, the apartment feels intentional.

A charcoal sectional sits tucked beneath the windows, softened by carelessly thrown blankets and mismatched cushions that somehow still work together. A record player sits near the window, piles of records next to it. Framed prints lean against the walls rather than hanging properly, like he’d never gotten around to finishing decorating.

Near the kitchen, a narrow shelf holds liquor bottles beside a row of half-dead succulents struggling valiantly for survival beneath the window light.

The apartment feels lived in rather than curated. Messy in places. Personal in others. Young. And somehow, that unsettles her more than the dirty elevator had.

“You look disappointed,” he says lightly behind her as he locks the door.

Minjeong glances over her shoulder. “I was expecting significantly more property damage, maybe a mattress on the floor.”

His laugh comes instantly, warm and familiar already.

“Damn,” he sighs dramatically, shrugging off his coat. “And here I thought the black mold in the bathroom would win you over.”

Minjeong snorts softly.

He tosses his keys into a ceramic bowl near the entrance before turning back toward her. Without the dim lighting and noise of the bar surrounding them, Minjeong suddenly becomes painfully aware of how alone they are.

“You can take your coat off, you know,” he says gently. “I’m not going to murder you.”

“That’s exactly what a murderer would say.”

“True.” He nods thoughtfully. “In my defense, though, I did buy you a cosmopolitan first. That feels polite.”

Another reluctant smile threatens at the corners of her mouth.

‘‘So, would you like something to drink?’’ he says, shrugging his jacket off, tossing it on the couch.

His gaze lingered on her for half a second too long before the corner of his mouth twitched upward again. ‘‘Or would you prefer the grand tour first?’’

Minjeong knew exactly what the ‘grand tour’ meant.

And somehow, that realization made heat curl low in her stomach far more effectively than any of his flirting at the bar ever had.

The worst part was how casually he said it. But maybe that was exactly the point.

Minjeong slowly slipped her coat from her shoulders, carefully buying herself a few extra seconds to regain composure. She hung it over the back of a chair near the kitchen island before turning toward him again.

His eyes flicked over her briefly, because meeting hers again.